Hateship
by moonsdoor
Summary: def. A mutual relationship between two people who agree to hate each other. AU. No Time Travel. 1950s Tomione.


_A/N: First Tomione story, so I'm excited. I know this idea may have been done before, but I wanted to try it for myself. Enjoy!_

* * *

Hateship

 _(def. A mutual relationship between two people who agree to hate each other. Often a gentleman's agreement to hate each other.)_

.

She didn't look like the kind of girl who'd be working in Knockturn Alley. But she was a Gryffindor, as he understood it, and Gryffindors happened to be fools.

Her hair was immense; a big woolly thing that hid her face entirely. The only thing he managed to see was a spatter of freckles. He frowned. He didn't like people who didn't groom themselves. If one was not careful with one's appearance, one was prone to not be careful in general.

Besides, he would have liked to look at someone _pretty_ for a change. Burke was ugly as sin and Borgin was even worse.

"I suppose you were already a Seventh Year when I started at Hogwarts," she was saying, by way of making small talk.

 _I wouldn't have noticed you had we shared a Common Room_ , he remarked snidely to himself.

"A pity, I'm sure," he replied instead.

She was still gazing at him with an inquisitive eye, but Tom knew she was also unable to look away. He smirked. No one could resist his devilishly handsome looks.

"You said your last name is Granger? I confess I'm not familiar with that magical name," he said, opening a ledger to write it down.

"Oh, you wouldn't be. It's a Muggle name."

Tom raised his head from the paper. She was shifting from one foot to the other, but her eyes stayed fixed on him. She was nervous, but she was not shying away from her identity.

 _A Mudblood in Knockturn Alley. This should be fun._

"I see. Well, I hope you will find your way here quickly. Come to me if you have any need for guidance," he concluded crisply. He was more or less running the shop now. Borgin and Burke almost never came by anymore. They were always away on some queer business, fetching illegal magical objects, no doubt. Tom envied their wide berth of action, but he had his own small empire over which he ruled. He smiled, contemplating that evening's meeting.

"I will, thank you," she spoke plainly, and, grabbing her shabby-looking travel bag, she scurried to the back of the shop.

Tom wondered if this was a mistake. Hiring new personnel was a trying thing, especially when no one seemed to want to work there. _We have to resort to Muggleborns, for Merlin's sake._

Still, he couldn't exactly show her the door. She was the only candidate who had accepted the wages and the establishment. _Why? Yes, her blood is impure, but surely she would have found some modest place for herself._

Tom shrugged to himself. It made no difference to him. If she proved to be incompetent, he would find someone else. Keeping shop was only biding time anyway.

* * *

As the day receded and the gloomier hours of the afternoon descended, more customers started to enter the front door. Tom insisted that he should be the one to greet them. Building connections, making a good impression, showing diffidence to the very proud - these were things worth cultivating.

The new girl was to stay in the back and bring him whatever was required, write down orders, and generally make herself unheard and unseen.

It was going well, so far.

Lysandra Yaxley had braced the "intolerant air" of Knockturn Alley just to see a certain artifact Tom had promised her. He knew she had come for a view of himself too, so he made sure to appear most attractive to her.

"Granger, bring in Miss Yaxley's order. Number 46, in the crate."

There was a lengthy pause, during which he exchanged pleasantries with Lysandra. She was young and beautiful, and engaged to a Black. That did not weigh much. He knew he could, if given the opportunity, seduce her properly. Her fiance was an oaf who did not care where his beloved or his money went. He might get her financial support more easily if he slept with her.

Time went on and that silly new girl did not appear with the order.

"Excuse me," he murmured politely and flashed Yaxley a dazzling smile.

His face turned into a furious grimace when he walked towards the back of the shop. He was going to school the Gryffindor in a lesson of propriety and punctuality.

 _When I call, you answer._

He strolled into the storage room, hands clenched into fists.

She was sitting down on one of the crates, her comically large hair providing a good cover for her illicit offense.

She had retrieved Lysandra's order, but instead of bringing it to the front, she was inspecting its contents. She was _reading_ it. For it was a book, a special Dark Arts compendium that he had personally found for the beautiful heiress.

His blood boiled, as it always did when people stuck their nose in _his_ affairs.

"Granger," he called, glacially.

The girl raised her head and shut the book in a panic. Her eyes were frantic.

"Mr. Riddle! I'm sorry, I was just making sure -"

"Making sure our customers lose their patience? Is that how you propose to be of service to me?" His tone was sharp, but contained. It had the desired effect. She looked even more pathetic, trying to scrounge up some trite excuse.

Her cheeks flushed red. "No, of course, you're right, I'm terribly sorry, I was only curious, because -"

"From now on, you might temper your curiosity and do your job. Besides, there is no point reading such things. They are quite beyond your understanding, I'm afraid."

He swore he saw a flash of annoyance in her eyes. He could not be sure, for it was gone in the next moment.

"That's all right, Mr. Riddle. I'm not interested in the Dark Arts."

He would have scoffed if he were not put out by her insolent comment. He narrowed his eyes at her.

"I would refrain from sharing my opinions, if I were you," he spoke in the same measured voice. She was plainly crossing a line.

"I apologize. I did not know it was forbidden to do so."

Tom gnashed his teeth. The foolish little Gryffindor was getting on his nerves. He raised the hand for the book, but she was still stupidly holding it in her arms.

" _Do_ hurry up, Miss Granger."

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Riddle, but I think -"

"What you think is of little importance. The order, if you please."

She released it reluctantly. Tom decided he would sack her at the end of the day. Perhaps it was a rash judgement, but he couldn't swallow a Muggleborn who had the presumption to speak out of turn.

When he returned to Lysandra, she was looking furtively towards the back of the room.

"Dear me, I hope I have not caused any trouble."

"Of course not. I was only instructing the new help. You are a cherished customer, after all, and she should know that." His smile made the woman blush with pleasure. But he was angry inside. Lysandra had heard him argue with that Mudblood. He would most certainly sack her.

* * *

"Miss Granger."

She seemed to know she was getting the boot. But she didn't look half as remorseful as she should have. Tom tapped the ledger with his finger, looking over the day's backlog. He was going to let her wait. She deserved a fit punishment for her insolence.

She cleared her throat, but he ignored her. She tapped her foot impatiently. He ignored that too. _Let her simmer for a while._

At length, she opened her mouth. He smiled to himself. _Here we go._

"I believe you're angry with me, Mr. Riddle. And you have every right to be, but I should tell you I was acting in your... in the shop's best interest."

He had to give her this much credit; she had some Gryffindor courage to assume she was in the right.

"Is that so?"

"Yes. I was trying to tell you, I think that book is an apocryphal account. That's why I was looking through it."

Tom blanched. Of all the things he had expected her to say, this was not it.

"Excuse me?"

"It's a fake, I believe," she went on, hiding her face in her curls. "Something caught my eye when I looked at it. I checked inside the book, and it had the mark of a bizarre concealment spell."

Tom gripped the ledger hard. "What are you insinuating?"

"Nothing! I only - I think it might not _be_ a compendium. It's probably some ordinary book, made more valuable by a clever spell. I would not worry. Your - _our_ customer will not find it out. It would be hard to break. I read about it in the Restricted Section. It's something only smugglers know about."

"That is an outrageous hypothesis. I found -" _the book myself_ , he was going to say. But he clamped his mouth shut. He _had_ gotten it by blackmailing a professional smuggler.

No. She was positively wrong. He had inspected the book thoroughly and this spell would not have escaped him.

She seemed to divine his thoughts.

"It's said to be the kind of small, but clever spell that goes unnoticed, because wizards only look for complicated magical patterns. Anyone could have missed it."

Tom was aware that his cheeks had grown warm.

 _I'm not anyone._

The air was stifling. His starched three-piece suit was pressing hard on his skin. He only required a moment's notice to retrieve his wand and hex her. A _Crucio_ might do the job well. His fingers tingled with suppressed desire, but he gritted his teeth and stood still. He hadn't felt like using the Cruciatus Curse in a while. But then, he hadn't been corrected in an even longer time. He was reminded of his Hogwarts years, of Dumbledore and his torturous classes. The old fool had never been pleased with him. He would bet anything that this bushy-haired nuisance standing in front of him had been among his pets.

Of course, she was still _bloody_ wrong.

"I doubt that such a thing would have eluded me, Miss Granger," he replied icily.

She lowered her eyes briefly. "As you say, Mr. Riddle. Would you need me for anything else tonight, or may I go home?"

She wanted to be excused. The absolute insolence. He eyed her with contempt. How had this plain little Gryffindor made him lose his temper so thoroughly in _one_ day?

He was used to having the shop to himself. He was used to his loyal customers, who doted on him and fell for his charms every time he opened his mouth. He was used to his followers, who met him diligently once a week in splendid quarters that far surpassed anything this plain-looking mouse had ever laid eyes on.

He was used to assent, admiration, power.

He was not used to this kind of insubordination. Not anymore. And he wasn't about to start.

But when he opened his mouth, he found himself saying,

"No. You may go."

She scurried out of the shop before he had time to call her back and tell her not to bother to return.

 _I can sack her tomorrow_ , he mulled, vexed by his hesitance. _Why_ hadn't he done it now? Why had he let the chance slip through his fingers?

He thought of what she had told him. _It's said to be the kind of small, but clever spell that goes unnoticed._

No. He would certainly _not_ visit Yaxley tonight to see for himself.

* * *

It had started raining by the time he arrived at the gates. Despite the magical veil he'd drawn over himself, he was soaking wet when he stepped over the threshold. He cursed under his breath.

Celledon Yaxley received him in the parlor jovially and thanked him for keeping his daughter occupied in the months before her marriage. She would be down to see him in an instant, he said. "She esteems your company greatly."

Tom made some charmingly humble reply and drew next to the fire to warm his hands. He couldn't believe he had gone to this much trouble, on a night like this. The desire to curse Granger intensified, until it was unbearable and he could think of nothing else. He had never felt so put out before.

Lysandra was a welcome distraction.

Celledon, another Pureblood idiot, trusted him with his daughter, so much so that he let them climb upstairs to her rooms. Her servants and house-elves were watching them surreptitiously, but Lysandra had enough power to summon them away. Who knew what might happen while they were alone...

Yet Tom could not think of more pleasant occupations. His mind kept circling back to the book and whether that insufferable Gryffindor was right.

 _She can't be._

"I'm so glad you've decided to pay us a visit. I can't remember the last time you stopped by."

"I wanted to make sure you were happy with your purchase."

"Oh, Tom, that is too much. Do you ever take a break from your formalities? I would love to see you in more...casual circumstances."

"I would like nothing more, but sadly, I am a slave to my enterprise."

That comment only seemed to please her more. She retrieved the newly bought compendium for him.

 _Bloody hell._

He only required five minutes to realize Granger had been correct. It had been right under his nose. He had missed it. He was frozen in shock.

It rankled him even more that she had predicted things so accurately. Lysandra would never uncover this cheat. And he wouldn't tell her.

"Tom? Are you all right? You look a little pale."

"I was only thinking how empty my shop will you be after you are married."

Lysandra blushed and put her hand on his arm. "I will come visit you, no matter what. I'm sure you'll have something for me. Something I require."

Tom smiled a small smile and kissed her hand.

He rose on unsteady feet. His anger was like a ball of fire, consuming him from within. He needed some form of release, but Lysandra was not suitable for such a task. He might take up one of the house elves and curse it blind.

But he was too impatient.

He took his departure quickly, surprising the Yaxleys, who had been all too glad to have him for dinner.

"Work is ever-present in my mind, but I shall make time in the following week," he lied smoothly.

When he was finally out in the cold, it was still raining, but he let the icy droplets beat down on his face. He was already late to the meeting. His Death Eaters would be restless. One of them would bleed tonight. One of them would scream for mercy.

 _I won't fire her_ , he thought, with some degree of satisfaction. He had saved a _Crucio_ for her. And it would be remiss of him not to deliver.

He always delivered. That's why _Borgin and Burkes_ had hired him, after all.

* * *

Hermione drew the bath quickly. She wanted to rinse out the mold and dust from her skin. Keeping a job at that awful shop would be a daunting task, but the Ministry would probably not hear her complaints about the dirt and the generally dour atmosphere. They were interested in results, not opinions.

 _Ha, just like Mr. Riddle._

She had agreed to the assignment out of a misguided sense of adventure. She was beginning to regret that. But how else to make a name for yourself in such a competitive department?

She might find something good very soon. Riddle and his employers dabbled in illegal commerce all too often. However, the Ministry wasn't interested in shutting down some horrid shack in Knockturn Alley. No, they wanted to investigate some of the more _special_ artifacts that _Borgin and Burkes_ managed to find for their customers.

She had been excited about the compendium. Alas, her first day on the job had been a disappointment. Hopefully, not everything in that place was fake.

Tom Riddle was certainly genuine in his condescension. It would be a _pain_ to bite her tongue and try to act meek in front of him. She had almost gone too far today. She needed to play the part better.

 _Some adventure, indeed._

Hermione lowered herself into the hot water and gave a small sigh of pleasure.

 _At least he's handsome. Insufferable, but handsome._

She shook her head, already regretting the thought. He might have been nice to look at, but he was part of her job and in order to do it well, she would have to leave such matters aside.

 _It won't be hard. He doesn't make it very easy to like him. He's charming to his superiors, but awful to his so-called inferiors. Prick._

No, it wouldn't be hard at all.


End file.
